


red eye

by roosebolton



Category: Andrew Hozier-Byrne (Musician)
Genre: Airplanes, Alcohol, Holding Hands, M/M, RPF, but we can all use soft things every once in awhile, this is extremely soft and I thought about not posting it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roosebolton/pseuds/roosebolton
Summary: Red eye flights could be a challenge, and Alex couldn't sleep.





	red eye

After a while, Alex closed the game he was playing on his phone, since his phone was dying, and bent down to plug it in, tucking his earbuds in his bag. When he sat back up in his seat, he glanced over at Andrew in the seat next to him, leaned over next to the closed window against one of those small travel pillows, snoring very softly. Looking around the people near him, he could see Rachel leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed, a blanket covering her; Kristen was next to Rachel and she also appeared to have nodded off. A few seats in front of him, Cormac and Rory weren't moving, both with headphones on, so they were either asleep or quietly playing games. He couldn't see anyone else he knew without standing up and looking around, but a lot of strangers were sleeping, too.

Red eye flights could be a challenge, and Alex couldn't sleep. Too wired. He'd always felt like he had too much energy at the most inappropriate times.

Trouble was, most of the usual ways he knew to tire himself out weren't exactly appropriate or available on an airplane. Couldn't do anything sexual, which felt weird in the tiniest bathroom ever, anyway; couldn't get high, couldn't have one of his late-night chats with Andy since he was asleep, and there was no sense waking him up on Alex's account.

Well, there was one thing left. He quietly got the attention of a flight attendant.

"Whiskey, please. Whatever you've got. And ice." He handed her his card. She walked away and came back with the world's tiniest bottle of Jameson, a small plastic cup of ice, and his card. He side-eyed the little bottle while he signed the receipt, thanked her, and decided it would have to do. Pouring the entire bottle over the ice, he laid back in his seat and took a sip. _ Absolutely ghastly. But it is what it is. _

"So it's come to this, has it," he whispered to himself, taking another sip. He stared at the light above his head, turned on him like a spotlight. He reached up to turn it off with a click. _ That's the last thing I need. _

He took a breath, slowly draining the rest of the whiskey from his cup. He leaned into the aisle to see if he could see the same flight attendant who'd brought him the drink, but she must have moved. He got a different flight attendant's attention instead - a man, this time.

Handing him the little bottle and his card, he said quietly, "Another, please. I don't need a new cup, though. How many am I allowed?" 

The flight attendant hesitated. "As many as you'd like to pay for, but we'll refuse you if you seem intoxicated. Everyone's got a different tolerance."

Alex considered this. "Better make it a double, then."

They repeated the card and signed receipt routine after the flight attendant handed him two tiny bottles of Jameson this time. _ I can't even feel it yet. Barely enough for a shot. _ He poured both of the little bottles into his plastic cup, the ice having melted just a little. 

He took a sip. _ Ah, now it almost resembles proper whiskey. Stronger, at least. _

By the time he finished his drink, most of the ice had melted, and he tipped the rest of the ice chips into his mouth, crunching them as quietly as he could. Despite the coolness of the ice, he felt the faint warm glow he'd been seeking, that middle ground between sober and drunk, where everything just has a softness to it, and his eyes began to droop just a little. 

Glancing down, he noticed that Andrew's hand was under the armrest between them, his fingers somehow stuck beneath it, but he was leaning the other direction, definitely still asleep. _ God, his arms are so long... how did he manage this? _ He gently pressed the button to move the armrest, lifting it up into the space between their seat backs. _ There's a lad, don't need your hand stuck under there when you wake up. _

He looked up at Andrew's face, and felt a hazy sort of fondness, the kind you don't feel as easily when sober. Gently, not wanting to wake him, he rested his hand over Andrew's, leaning back against his seat and settling in, letting the warm whiskey drowsiness overtake him. 

An hour or so later, he woke up to find that Andrew's hand was palm up, clasping his.

Closing his eyes, smiling, he fell back asleep, comfortably holding Andrew's hand.


End file.
